An Ode to an Enchanted Rose
If I could have your attention please.
We have gathered here today to celebrate the life and death of our dearly beloved.
Radiance was her name, love her game, but isn’t it a crying shame that her encapsulating glow that was the light at the end of your tunnel has been reduced to this single moment? This single dark moment?
Light is what you called her, for even the sun envied how bright she could make a room, even the moon wouldn’t dare assume a position against her for it may have friends on the other side, but the shadows know better than to provoke the light.
I look upon the faces of all those gathered here today in sorrow looking toward tomorrow wondering how you could ever go on without her here, but if you’d lend me your ear, I might just confirm your greatest fear.
Darkened is what she was, blackened by the ash of the flames you sent her way when you burned down her refuge.
In her last days, she was merely the shell of the woman you thought you knew, beaten by you till she was black and blue and still you line these pews and tell me that you loved her too!
Destitute is what she became, longing for the love that you never reciprocated like a desert in need of rain.
Lonely is what she was. You cheated, you stole, and you lied. She died, and none of you were by her side!
But still you’ll cry, falling to your knees asking God “why”?
I would caress your shoulder ever so gently and tell you to find solace in the fact that she lived her life plenty, but who afforded her the luxury of such comfort while she was alive?
Don’t all answer at once, I know this is a tough one, but when given the choice you loaded up the chamber and, boom, off went the smoking gun.
Insatiable is what you were, filling up the bottomless pit of your greed, feeding off of her teat until she suffocated and couldn’t breathe because her well-being be damned as long as she was fulfilling your needs.
When you find yourself on your knees, instead of asking God “why,” ask him “who,” and see if he doesn’t reveal a mirror with the culprit staring right back at you.
See, heartbreak kills and her heart was an enchanted rose. Petal by petal, thorn by thorn, stem by stem, root by root, she wilted away until there was nothing left but an empty pot, haunted by the thought of how things might’ve been had you loved her the way you claim that you do.
But nonetheless, this much is true. Light is what you called her, but karmas a… so don’t come crying to me ‘cause so is her daughter.
|